


The Ghosts In My Head

by faeandwolf



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Torture, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5269298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeandwolf/pseuds/faeandwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the destruction of Charleston, Flint begins to feel himself slipping and finds some comfort from an unlikely source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghosts In My Head

Somedays it was just too much; the anger, the rage, the despair. It hadn't settled since Charleston, it was constantly simmering just beneath the surface and Flint knew it. He’d done his best to keep himself in check. He had a ship to run, men to protect, a war to wage, he couldn't afford to fall apart. Not now. When he felt it rising, like bile in his throat, he would silently retreat into his cabin and take solace in the bottle. It wasn't healthy, and it certainly wasn't a permanent solution, but at the very least drunken sleep was more restful than the nightmares that had plagued him these past few months. Thomas’ face and the thoughts of him wasting away in Bedlam that have haunted his dreams for the last decade had new companions: the image of Miranda’s lifeless eyes staring at him; the feeling of her blood splashing against his face.

This time it was something so insignificant that triggered it. They had captured a ship, their first since Charleston. She was called the _Marianna_ , and her crew surrendered on sight. When the men began carrying the goods back abroad the _Man O’War_ , Flint's eyes fell upon a crate of books and he caught himself looking for a book for Miranda and the world seemed to stop.

This time was different from the others. There wasn’t a burst of rage threatening to blind him, or even overwhelming grief. Instead it felt like drowning, like the slow rise of water filling his mouth, ears and lungs. First it choked him, then it dulled the noise and slowly blurred his vision, as though he had been submerged. He felt both trapped inside and outside himself and all Flint knew was that he needed to get out of there immediately. He faintly heard someone calling out to him, but it didn't seem important. Nothing did. Nothing but getting off the deck, getting away from all those eyes watching him, judging him. He felt himself collapse against something solid, at which point he fell apart completely. He was dimly aware that there are tears streaming down his face but all he can think was that _she’s gone. They’re both gone and it’s all my fault. If only I hadn’t gone to Charleston. If only I hadn’t gone to the admiralty; if only I hadn't left Thomas behind, if only, if-_

There was a hand on his shoulder. A hesitant touch, light and gentle, but it was an unbearable weight. On instinct he roughly pushed it away. He could make out a voice amidst the ringing in his ears. It was a faint sound, muffled somehow, but it was grounding and he focused all his attention on it.

Slowly, he came back to himself. His vision began to clear and it became a bit easier to breathe. Bit by bit he pulled himself back together. The room before him came into focus. He was in his cabin, sitting on the floor, and slumped against a wall. He had no idea how or when he had gotten there. He was gripped with a sudden fear: had anyone seen him? How long had he been like this? He hastily began wipe away any evidence of tears, when he felt that same gentle touch guide his arm away from his face. For the first time it registered that there was someone else in the room with him.  His heart sank; he had been seen. He grit his teeth and looked up to face his observer.

 It was Silver. He was crouched precariously, struggling to stay balanced on just one leg; his crutch lay on the floor off to one side. Inwardly, Flint grimaced. It wasn't like Silver hadn’t seen him upset before but he’d prefer not to let someone so naturally manipulative see him so vulnerable. It felt like handing him a weapon. But Silver didn’t look like he’d been handed a weapon. There was no teasing smirk on his face, and for once in his life he didn’t seem to be saying anything (although Flint was now certain that it had been Silver’s voice he’d heard drawing him back to reality). He looked ever so slightly wary, as though afraid Flint would push him away again, but there was something else underneath. It wasn’t pity, but something akin to worry and understanding. Flint would have almost preferred that Silver looked malicious.  He didn't have the energy to read between the lines. He tried to school his face into its usual neutral mask, but he found he was too exhausted.

Silver swayed slightly and his hand moved from Flint’s sleeve to his shoulder in an attempt to regain his balance.  The touch didn’t feel like such a burden anymore, so Flint allowed his hand to remain there. In fact he almost found it comforting. Silver, on the other hand looked slightly terrified and begins to pull his hand away. Flint suddenly found he couldn’t bear the thought of being left alone.To his surprise (and from the looks of it Silver's as well) he grabbed Silver's hand to keep it in place. Flint leaned his head against the wall and shut his eyes, as another wave of exhaustion hit him. He knew he should ask Silver what happened, what he did, what damage control was needed, but he didn't. He couldn’t bring himself too. Instead he simply sat there, with his eyes closed focused on his breathing and the hand in his and the relief that whatever had happened was over. They stayed like that for a while, until Flint heard a thud- Silver’s leg had given out. He looked over and saw Silver sitting beside him, looking pained. He was about to ask if Silver needed anything, when Silver began to speak.

“It’s like you can’t breathe,” he said. He sounded as weary as Flint felt.

“What?” Flint’s voice sounded strained even to his own ears.

Silver gestured at him. “What happened to you. It felt like you couldn't breathe. As if someone shoved your head underwater and held you there. Blocking out everything. People, noises, time.”

“What would you know about it?”

“Because it’s happened to me,” Silver said shortly, avoiding Flint’s gaze. Flint was still holding Silver’s hand and found himself absent-mindedly stroking the back of it with his thumb, perhaps out of a desire to get him to elaborate. It seemed to work. Silver took a deep breath before he continued

 “It started shortly after my…accident. Sometimes I’d wake up thinking my leg was still there, then I’d look down and everything would come rushing back all at once. The pain, the blood, the smell. All of it. I couldn’t shut it out. I’d have no idea how long I’d sit there before something would pull me back.”

“How did you make it stop?” Flint asked.

Silver shrugged as if to say he hadn’t, or that he didn’t know. He fell silent for a few minutes. Then the faintest hint of a self-deprecating smile appeared and he turned to Flint expectantly and said, “Well?”

“No.” Flint abruptly released Silver’s hand.

“It’s only fair-" Frustration had started to creep into Silver’s voice.

Flint shook his head, too drained to argue the point further. That was one conversation he was not willing to have with anyone. Not yet. Possibly not ever and certainly not with Silver. This conversation was over and they both knew it. Silver seemed to be back to his usual self and Flint felt there was no need for them to hide out here any longer. The crew was bound to be getting suspicious.  Flint pulled himself to his feet and started towards the door.

“At least help me up,” Silver said accusingly.

Feeling slightly guilty, Flint offered Silver his hand. Rather than trying to stand, Silver flashed him a bold smile and pulled sharply which caused Flint to lose his balance and fall forward. He only just managed to stop himself from outright crushing Silver. The hand that wasn’t holding Silver’s was braced against the wall supporting him and Silver’s legs were trapped between his own, their faces only a few inches apart. Silver’s smile had flickered to reveal what was, if not a nervous expression, than an unsure one. Perhaps it was that expression, which seemed so unnatural on Silver’s face, that prompted Flint to squeeze the hand clutching his. Apparently this is all the reassurance Silver needed because no sooner had Flint done this, than a pair of lips were pressing against his own.

It took several seconds for Flint to process what was happening, for him to realize that he was being kissed and that it was Silver that was kissing him. It was a soft kiss, hesitant, as though Silver was worried Flint might break down again, and Flint felt his anger flare up. He couldn’t afford to have anyone think of him as fragile. He deepened the kiss, made it harsher, rougher and Silver responded enthusiastically. Silver’s free hand found its way to the back of his neck, and pulled him closer until he was all but sitting in Silver’s lap.

When they broke apart, Flint rested his forehead against Silver’s.

“What the fuck was that?” Flint said, before he could stop himself. There was no malice behind the words, only astonishment and surprise.

Silver gave him a knowing smirk, “Such a romantic," he said sarcastically. "I'll remind you that I'm not the one who's been caressing another man's hand for the last half an hour,” he continued somewhat defensively.

“Don't give me that shit." Flint scowled and pulled back further, suddenly angry with how much he'd given away. “Why are you doing this?” he said harshly.

“Because I wanted too,” Silver said as though it was of little consequence, as though he did this sort of thing all the time. For all Flint knew, he might.

“Because you looked like you needed someone too.” Silver added, so quietly Flint could barely hear him.

And with just a simple sentence John Silver was lain bare to him. All the layers, all the lies stripped away with a startlingly simple revelation Flint had long suspected but could never confirm. For all his bravado and practised smiles and proclamations of self-reliance, Silver was utterly alone and he hated it. He was just as desperate for companionship, partnership, and value as anyone else, and the crew's loyalty hadn't filled that void, not completely. It was the reason why he stayed when the gold had vanished, why he’d let Vane’s thugs torture him, why he kept supporting Flint even when all logic dictated he shouldn’t because _John Silver couldn’t stand to be alone any longer._

Silver had just shown Flint all his cards, and in doing so he'd given Flint the upper hand. He was playing a dangerous game to get what he wanted, Flint realised, one in which the outcome entirely depended on whether or not Flint needed him as much as he needed Flint. And he'd guessed correctly. 

Flint reached up and placed a hand on Silver’s face. He knew his own face was full of more affection and fondness than he should be showing, but for one very brief moment Flint found he didn’t much care. They were on equal footing now, they each knew what the other wanted.

He kissed Silver again. It was a different sort of kiss than before, not gentle but at the same time full of understanding, assent, and permission. Silver took that permission and ran with it. He devoured Flint's mouth like a starving man and Flint let him. 

Silver wasn’t Miranda and he certainly wasn’t Thomas. Flint was under no illusions about that, but he was someone, and as much as Flint hated to admit it, that was what he needed more than anything.


End file.
